Blighted by Frost js & dt
by anaemicc
Summary: blight /blʌɪt/ Spoil, harm and destroy. ℑon Snow became blighted by frost, his face ever reflecting the darkness within. His porcelain skin, forever cold as he tried to forget the wounds his sworn brothers had so viciously brought upon him. That was until the moment he stood before her; the mother of dragons. [sporadic updates.] [adult content.] [season 7 - ]
1. I

We know no king, 

but the king in the north,

whose name is Stark.

Jon Snow was a simple man. He had always been that way, since childhood. He always kept his ways simple and direct. In a world so filled with political tension and an appalling amount of dishonesty he brought the task upon himself; never to become like them.

But life had not been easy on Jon Snow, repeatedly pushing him further away from his simple beliefs, and sometimes the challenges that were brought up to him; won.

The first time he abandoned his simple mind was when he for the first time in his cold and primitive existence, experienced what it was like to love another human being. To care for more than the duty, to care for someone so deeply it hurt into his mere bones.

When Jon fell in love with the fire haired woman beyond the wall, he had to accept the fact that no man could go on being simple after loving someone with that much fervour.

But she was taken away from him, and Jon had to learn that no love in the world, despite how strong and sincere, could win the battle against death. And yet again, he found himself returning to the beliefs he thought he had abandoned.

Jon Snow became blighted by frost, his face ever reflecting the darkness within. His porcelain skin, forever cold as he tried to forget the wounds his sworn brothers had so viciously brought upon him.

That was until the moment he stood before her; the mother of dragons. Her ice kissed hair, her eyes that occupied a fire no man could tame and her voice so mighty the air vibrated around the black throne room.

And then Jon Snow knew, that his ordinary simple ways wouldn't do anymore. Otherwise, this queen of fire would devour him, and that was something he could not consent to.


	2. II

I will do what Queens do, 

I will rule. 

Daenerys Targaryen was anything but simple. Her early years, living in the shadow of her domestic brother, in constant fear of arousing the rage within him, always in fear of waking the dragon, learned her how not to seize power.

But Daenerys Targaryen was destined for great things, and it didn't take her long to realise she had the capability to one day rule the entire world.

Nothing and no one could bring the mother of dragons to shiver in fear, not the death of her Khal and husband, nor the death of her only child. She could not be weak because she was a queen and queens must at all times remain strong.

Daenerys was a woman that didn't bow to no man. Her heart had to grow cold, in order to maintain the task that had always laid before her; conquer the seven kingdoms. She had no time for love and the weakness it brought over people. She was a queen and a queens only task is to rule and to bring justice over the world.

A fire burned inside of her, a fire so mighty it at times threatened to burn not only her but the few congregations of people she gave herself permit to care for.

It was safe to say that Daenerys was a woman no living man could or dared to impress, except maybe one.

The northern man, with his tousled black hair, plump crimson lips and eyes so obscure and abstruse she could not bear look away. It was something about him, the king in the north, that terrified her and she had not been terrified of someone for many years.


	3. III

The first meeting. 

"You don't believe him? I understand that. It sounds like nonsense. But if destiny has brought Daenerys Targaryen back to our shores, it has also made Jon Snow King in the North," Ser Davos voice filled the throne room, all eyes of the presences watching him in surprise but also in dispraise. It did not bode well, querying their chosen queen, "You were the first to bring Dothraki to Westeros? He is the first to make allies of wildlings and Northmen. He was named Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, he was named King in the North," the fearless man carried on when there was no one endeavouring to stop him from speaking, "Not because of his birthright. He has no birthright, he's a damn bastard! All those hard sons of bitches chose him as their leader, because they believed in him. All those things you don't believe in, he faced those things, he fought those things for the good of his people. He risked his life for his people. He took a knife in the heart for his people. He gave his own,..."

And much to everyone's surprise, the one giving him the admonitory glance, causing his words to fade into silence, was the man beside him. The so called; king in the north.

Daenerys sight grew small, was she the only one to react to the words this Ser Davos had just articulated? A knife in the heart for his people? Who exactly was this blanched man with those obscure eyes standing in her presence, and how was it that she already concluded this man wasn't going to swear his allegiance to her cause?

When no one else chose to speak, Ser Davos once again showed them all the amount of bravery he held, "If we don't put aside our enmities and band together, we will die. And then it doesn't matter whose skeleton sits on the Iron Throne."

Daenerys remained silent, watching as her most trusted adviser stepped forward. His short steps echoed upon the sable walls.

"If it doesn't matter, then you might as well kneel. Swear your allegiance to Queen Daenerys, help her to defeat my sister, and together, our armies will protect the North," the man Jon Snow once shared a leather bottle of wine with, before his life at the wall begun, and now he acted as Hand of the queen.

"There's no time for that. There's no time for any of this! While we stand here debating,..." Jon Snow finally alleged, his obdurate voice, not only surprising Tyrion Lannister but also the silver haired woman standing three footsteps behind him.

"It takes no time to bend the knee. Pledge your sword to her cause," Tyrion commenced once more.

"And why would I do that?" The young northern wanted to know, his hands pressed to his sides, as he turned directly to the person in question, "I mean no offence, Your Grace, but I don't know you. As far as I can tell, your claim to the throne rests entirely on your father's name, and my own father fought to overthrow the Mad King. The lords of the North placed their trust in me to lead them, and I will continue to do so as well as I can."

Daenerys was careful not to let a sole emotion traverse her face as she stared into the cold mans eyes, her heart beating like a war hammer underneath her dark dress. She was not to let this man ignore the fact that she was to rule the seven kingdoms, whether he bent the knee or not.

Not completely sure how I'm gonna do this. But I will use some of the series script now and then. Looking forward to explore the world of writing Game of Thrones fan fiction!


	4. IV

Missandei touched the still water, only to quickly wince at the burning heat. The bath was not meant for people like her, she knew that, but still, she was curious.

"Did you burn yourself?" An amused voice spoke to her from across the room. Her face turned to her queen, who's mouth curved into a smile.

"Honestly, your grace, I did," Missandei confessed, looking down at her feet.

"And how many times do I have to warn you before you decide to listen?" The silver haired woman smirked, as she dropped her dress onto the floor. Her naked skin shine-like in the light of the fire sparkle in the corner of her chamber.

"Probably, at least one more time," the dark haired girl laughed, before turning around, giving the naked queen privacy as she stepped into the smoking tub.

Her body reclining as she let her head fall backwards, her eyes closed and the sound of the blowing wind outside making her more grateful to be lying there in the burning water.

"Your grace, I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have been meaning to ask you," Missandei spoke carefully.

"Yes?" Daenerys looked at her very much trusted handmaiden.

"Have you spoken to your guest?" She asked, nipping on her lip.

"My guest?" the queen raised her head, looking curiously at her friend.

"Jon Snow, I mean," Missandei already regretting the decision to ask such a question. But she did notice the way her Queen's eyes had widened at the sight of the mysterious man, and Missandei also knew that her queen had not looked at any man that way before. Not since she herself came to be her close adviser years before.

She hadn't looked at her lover Daario Naharis once, with twice that much fierceness as Missandei hat witnessed inside the throne room two days before.

"No, I have not spoken, to our so called guest," Daenerys answered her, still that amused smirk in the corner of her pleasingly plump lips.

"Forgive me, your grace, I shouldn't have asked," the handmaiden shook her head and walked over to her queen. Her flick hands slowly began loosening up the thick silver braids, dropping the loose strands of hair down into the water.

"You are more than allowed to ask, that you know, Missandei," Daenerys said as she closed her tired eyes, the satisfactory of fingers combing through her hair sending her towards the land of dreams, but the words of her maiden had made her curious, "And why would I have spoken to him, if I may ask?"

Missandei hid a smile, and took a deep breath before speaking, "No particular reason."

"Haven't I known you long enough to tell your lies apart from your truths?" Daenerys looked at her, her face raised in question.

"You certainly have, your grace," another smile escaped her lips as her queen straightened herself. Drops of water falling from her hair, caressing her naked skin.

"So tell me, what is it that's been on your mind regarding this Jon Snow?"

Missandei hesitated, but the eagerness in the queen's eyes made it clear, she could not slinger her way out of this.

"Maybe, if you talked to him, you would see that there is perhaps something more to him than just his stubbornness."

Daenerys studied the women in silence, the fire casting its light over her warm skin, "And why would I want to do that?"

"It was merely a suggestion, your grace. If you do not wish to speak to Jon Snow, you don't have to," she answered, "But,"

"Yes?" Daenerys was eager to hear more about what she was about to say.

"He is quite the character, don't you agree?" Missandei was pushing the boundaries, speaking of this, she knew that, yet she couldn't bring herself to stop.

"He is," the queen returned to her lying position, the water once again covering her bare chest.

"And if I am to be perfectly honest, he is also very beautiful."

That statement the bathing woman wasn't ready for, and her heart once again betrayed her. A jumping beat hit her insides, and a shiver made its way down her wet spine.

"That is a far too in relevant observation, Missandei. He is here to bend the knee and swear me his allegiance, that is all," she declared loudly, turning to face the other woman, "His beauty, or his personal characteristic has nothing to do with that. Understood?"

"Yes, of course, your grace," Missandei nodded, finishing the last procedure of the queen's bath and left her.

As Daenerys had finished drying herself, she slipped under the heavy fur blanket inside her empty bed, apart from her. Her skin still warm after her bath, as she laid her head down on the pillow.

Her hands slowly caressing the empty place next to her in the large wooden bed, the smell of the fire still sparkling reminded her of the long nights across the narrow sea. Her long, wild, passionate night together with her one true love, and at once a fire sparked inside of her as well. A taunting sting below her stomach, mocking her in her loneliness.

She furrowed irritatingly as she spun around under the thick blanket. This wasn't something she usually suffered. So why now?

She did not bear to admit that perhaps it had to do with the words her trusted adviser so brutally honest had spoken, about the beauty of Jon Snow. The mysterious deep eyes, his red lips that had not once shown her even a hint of a smile, and that thick black hair, drawn back in a leather band. His skin bitten after all his years in the cold by the wall.

Something about him, made the queen squirm in longing throughout the night, her hands hugging the blanket hard as she dreamt of forbidden things.


End file.
